


What Good Is This Power

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), THEY DESERVE IT, actually I don't really think there ARE spoilers unless you squint but better safe than sorry, let someone help Byleth for a change, listen I just want to hug Claude a lot and if I can't do it Byleth heckin' can, someone dies but he gets better, sorta shippy sorta not, the Divine Pulse is such an anxiety-inducing ability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: A surprise attack catches the Alliance forces off-guard and the consequences are dire. (Or: Byleth dealing with the repercussions of both being helplessly human and being God herself.)





	1. Chapter 1

“That’s the last of them, Teach.”

Claude slid from his wyvern’s back, wiping his brow on his billowing sleeve and flashing Byleth a grin. He was filthy—they all were, streaked with sweat and dirt and blood and Goddess knew what else. But they were alive, and they were victorious, and that was enough that Byleth found herself smiling back.

“Nice work out there, Claude,” she said; she had the strangest urge to reach out and pat his hair, the way she had when he was still her student. Instead she sheathed the Sword of the Creator and forced herself to look away, seeking the rest of her students—her friends.

“Nice work yourself, Teach,” Claude laughed, bowing in that casual, self-assured way of his. He, too, was surveying the camp now. Byleth could see the solemn appraisal going on behind his eyes, but Claude was still hard to read, even after all this time. Was that approval? Disappointment?

Byleth winced.

“They shouldn’t have been able to catch us unawares like that,” she said. “We should have—”

“It could have been worse,” he interrupted. “Especially without your quick thinking. Sending Raphael and Caspar barreling into those foot soldiers? They scattered like pigeons! I can still hear their ferocious battle cries!” Claude laughed, the light in his green eyes dancing with mirth. “And that move with the Goneril battalion? Even I didn’t see that coming.”

He raked a hand through his windswept hair and smiled—the genuine sort of smile that made her pulse quicken and her tension melt away.

“You know, some people call me a genius, but if you ask me I think they’ve got the wrong person.”

“No one did ask you,” she said, “and flattery will get you nowhere, Lord Riegan.” But she must have looked pleased because his grin only grew.

It had been a minor skirmish with a small platoon of Imperial soldiers, but Claude’s small army had been taken completely by surprise and had to scramble to organize and defend their position. Byleth felt responsible; she had gotten complacent, taking for granted the shelter that Garreg Mach provided (and thus the peace between major battles). Luckily, the monastery was still easily defensible and, until now, the Empire had seen fit to leave Garreg Mach alone. This was new—the Empire testing the waters, toeing the line and seeing just how far they could cross it before those under the Banner of the Crest of Flames pushed them back.

Still, Claude’s forces had suffered only minor losses. What was done was done; they could use it as a lesson to be more wary as they continued on this path.

_Hm. A lesson indeed. _Maybe they were right to keep calling her “professor” after all.

Still, what had the Empire hoped to accomplish? The opposing force had been small, certainly not enough to take the monastery even with the advantage of a surprise attack. A distraction, perhaps?

“Still… makes you wonder what they were really after,” said Claude, and Byleth blinked. Had she been thinking out loud again, or had Claude simply read her mind? Either was possible; he was getting quite good at guessing what she was thinking, and the two had been working side-by-side long enough to communicate without words.

“Any ideas, Master Tactician?”

Claude’s expression darkened, and Byleth hid her smile behind her hand. He looked like he’d swallowed a bug.

“C’mon, Teach, you know I hate that stupid—”

She didn’t see the arrow until it was too late.

Claude staggered forward from the force of it and caught himself on her outstretched arms. Their eyes met, Claude’s wide with an expression she’d never seen in them before. Fear.

“_Teach?_”

His voice was small, quaking; then he collapsed, dragging her down with him.

She was screaming for Marianne before her knees hit the ground, only dimly aware of the sudden chaos around them. People were running and shouting for help and a call to arms. She thought she saw Leonie charging into the trees after the would-be assassin, the image out-of-focus. The only thing she could see clearly was Claude—Claude, unmoving. Claude unsmiling. Claude, bleeding out in her hands.

No. No no _no_—not him. Anyone but him. She couldn’t do this again.

Flashes of memory came unbidden: soft rain, rage white hot and roiling in her stomach, the weight of her father’s body in her arms. Memories of helplessness and the greatest pain she had ever known. That day, she hadn’t been able to stop it—not his death nor the flood of emotions that ran wild through her heart like ravaging beasts, clawing their way out of her through her eyes and throat and heart. The grief had nearly torn her apart.

Byleth bit back the tears. Not again. They wouldn’t have Claude, too.

Byleth closed her eyes, welcoming the disorienting roar of power that accompanied the Divine Pulse. It felt like freefalling through a hurricane, but she embraced the power as it tugged at her clothes, whipped her hair about her face, twisted her stomach into knots.

For one blessed moment, everything stopped—a single beat of deafening peace. Then the world threw itself in reverse and Byleth found herself standing again, Claude frowning at her and very much alive, and the universe screeched to a halt.

The relief she felt almost—almost—paralyzed her. But she threw herself forward, pressing all her weight against his chest and toppling him to the ground just before the arrow whizzed overhead.

“C’mon, Teach, you know I hate that stupid— _whoa!_ Hey, what are you—”

“Stay _down,_” Byleth growled, already drawing her sword and preparing to charge. The assassin was already sprinting away; she wasn’t going to be fast enough. “Leonie!”

“On it, Professor!” The cavalier, much closer (and faster) than Byleth, was already in pursuit, weapon at the ready.

“Lorenz, I need you!” She was already shouting orders before he came to a stop in front of her, expression grim-determined. “Take Ignatz and Raphael with you. Shamir, too. I want a full sweep of the area. I need to know if the enemy has any other surprises waiting for us.”

“At once, Professor!” Lorenz, ever the gentleman, nodded his assent and bowed in the saddle. He spared Claude, still sprawled on the ground with Byleth’s hand on his shoulder, only a single bemused glance before riding off to gather the others.

Only then did Byleth let up, removing her hand and allowing Claude to sit upright.

“Jeez, Teach, go easy on me next time,” he said, his voice rough and broken as if he’d been strangled. “I think you cracked a rib—or three.”

“Better that than _dead_,” and the venom in her voice shocked even herself. Claude raised his hands in surrender.

“Whoa, _Teach_—I was just—”

“Joking? This isn’t a joke, Claude!”

This wasn’t his fault. She _knew_ that. But the adrenaline was leaving her now and in its place, she felt something else, something new. Panic. Panic and fury, and now that the dam had broken she couldn’t stop the flow.

“You never turn your back on the enemy—_never_,” she hissed. “That’s battling 101, that’s _basic_—”

“That’s not fair and you know it, Teach. How could I have known—”

“_Because_—!”

She stops then, because she doesn’t _know_ how; because she can feel the telltale sting of fresh tears behind her eyes. Because Claude is staring at her as if she was a stranger, and that—that hurts the most.

“I…” Byleth looked away, trying to rein in her emotions. Her fists, hanging useless at her sides, clenched and unclenched around open air.

“Teach. Hey, look at me.” Byleth did, and her breath caught. He was so close, too close, the hurt in his eyes replaced with something dark and unfathomable. “Are you okay?” he asked, and it was the gentlest, most concerned, most heartbreakingly earnest she’d ever heard him. And Byleth couldn’t stand it.

She stood abruptly, brushing the dirt from her legs as if that made a lick of difference. Claude followed her lead, if more slowly, wincing as he drew himself to his full height.

“We should get camp in order, make sure we’re prepared in case they come back.”

“Teach—”

“We can talk about this later.” She had no intention of doing so, of course, but she hoped it would mollify him for the time being. Claude never let a mystery go unsolved for long; she knew that like she knew the sky was blue. She just couldn’t handle this right now. “Let me know when Lorenz returns. I’m going to see to the defenses.”

Before he could protest, Byleth stalked toward the monastery, not daring to look back. She was half-afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days after the initial attack, Claude finally gets fed up with the Professor's forced distance and confronts her. What he learns turns the world on its head, and he's not sure he can handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to write ch. 2 from Claude's perspective, yet here we are. Enjoy!

Claude was typically very, _very_ good at schooling his emotions—at least when it mattered. But even a saint—no, he’d met the Saints—even the goddess herself would find it difficult to endure such conditions.

Teach was avoiding him.

Not the “can’t be in the same room” sort of avoidance, or even the “refuse to talk to you” kind; she still came to their strategy meetings, still dined with him, still willingly existed in the same space. But emotionally? She just wasn’t there. He could tell that her smile wasn’t genuine, when she smiled at all. Worst of all, what little closeness they had shared before had disappeared. Claude had gotten used to the little touches since she’d returned, and he found he missed it: things like her hand on his shoulder, the way she ruffled his hair so casually—hell, even her elbow in his side when he was being especially difficult. It was like she’d gone back in time: the Ashen Demon once again.

At first, Claude thought he might be overthinking it; that, maybe, he was just being sensitive. But the others had noticed, too—Ignatz first, then Lysithea, then the others quickly after. When Raphael had stepped into his office in Rhea's former audience chamber looking like a kicked puppy and had asked if, maybe, the professor was mad at him about something and did Claude have a clue what it would be, Claude decided it was time to confront her.

He was getting tired of Shamir tailing him, anyway.

She was good at it, he’d give her that much. If she’d been under orders to stay hidden, he doubted he’d have noticed her at all. But Shamir’s orders had merely been to “watch out for him,” and not to avoid detection, and that was all the information he was getting out of her. And she followed him _everywhere_. The only time he was truly alone was in his room, and even then, he had no doubt that Shamir—or whoever relieved her during the evenings—was standing watch in the shadows of the second-floor dorms.

Yet only he seemed to find the arrangement strange, and Claude had, on more than one occasion, told Shamir in civil but firm tones that he had no need for a bodyguard. Shamir had only shrugged.

_I’ve got my orders, _she’d said. Which only made him more flustered. Which, of course, Judith thought was hilarious.

So, Claude was stuck with his stoic shadow day-in and day-out. He liked Shamir, he really did, but this was too much. He wasn’t a child. And who was going to try to kill him here? Too risky. His enemies were smarter than that.

(Except that they _had_ tried to kill him here, just a few days ago. It'd been a sloppy attempt and it was highly unlikely that they would try again so soon, but a _little_ caution was probably prudent. He could admit that much.)

Anyway, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who had done the ordering. That meant he had two reasons to talk to Teach, which was twice as good a reason as anything he could contrive on his own. And, as his stones had a two-bird minimum, he may as well take care of both his problems at once.

That didn’t stop his hands from shaking, just a little, when he knocked on her door.

Maybe she wouldn’t want to see him. Maybe she was still angry with him, after all. Maybe he was making a—

“The door’s open.”

Claude cleared his throat and stepped inside.

Byleth was standing at her desk, straightening a pile of papers and stacking them neatly in one corner. She looked up when he entered and attempted a smile; attempted, because although the shape was right it still seemed wrong. Like it took more energy than she had. On a second glance, Claude realized she looked _exhausted_. When had that happened? She’d looked perfectly healthy at dinner, but now… Claude almost frowned, catching himself at the last moment and schooling his expression into a false smile of his own. He was, admittedly, much more practiced than she.

“Heya Teach. Got a minute?”

“For you, Claude, always.”

Byleth closed a small leather-bound book and stepped away—her journal, he realized. He’d seen it so rarely, and he was only a little ashamed to admit that he had no idea where she kept it when not in use. Not for lack of trying. What he wouldn’t give to rifle through that thing, to learn all her secrets and—

_Focus_, Riegan.

“Funny you should say that, actually. That’s kinda why I’m here.” Confusion took the place of her smile. Good. He wanted her off-balance.

“What?”

Claude crossed his arms, cocked his head, kept his voice casual. “How much do you mean that?”

“Which part?” Byleth crossed hers as well, regarding him with the wariness of a cornered animal. For his part, Claude just shrugged.

“The bit about always having time for me.” He smiled at the wide-eyed stare that earned him. “You should be careful, Teach. People might get the wrong idea.”

Byleth huffed, ignoring the way her face turned a delicate pink. Claude felt a surge of satisfaction at that but shoved it to the back of his mind. He wasn’t here to stroke his own ego.

Even if that expression of hers was too cute for words.

“What is it you actually want, Claude?” she asked. “I know you didn’t come here to talk about our _not_-relationship.” The look she gave him now reminded Claude of their school days; it was the same stare that meant _shut up and pay attention or I’m putting you on stable duty with Lorenz. For a month._ But she wasn’t his professor anymore, and he’d had five years to build up a resistance to that look.

Mostly.

Anyway, she couldn’t see the way his toes tapped nervously if they were inside his boots.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he said finally. “At least, not entirely.” Claude scrubbed a hand through his hair, suddenly too tired to keep up the game. “Guess I’ll just cut to the chase. What’s going on, Teach?” She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but he didn’t let her. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You’ve been acting strange ever since those soldiers attacked us. Even Raphael’s noticed.”

“Raphael’s a smarter man than you lot give him credit for.”

“Oh sure, sure,” Claude said, ceding ground, “but my point is you haven’t exactly been subtle about it. Anyone who knows you knows something’s wrong. What I can’t figure out is why.”

Byleth stared at him in defiance, and Claude readied himself for a fight. Teach had never given him an inch if she truly didn’t want to. He’d come into this conversation with that knowledge and the determination to match her blow for blow; yet Byleth continued to surprise him, for a moment later she deflated entirely, shading her eyes with her hand and slumping onto the edge of the bed. Her face was turned away, so he almost missed the murmured: “It’s complicated.”

“I can do complicated.” He joined her on the bed, granting her the comfort of his presence while still giving her plenty of space. “Heck,” he said, grinning, “I’m practically the King of Complicated. Lay it on me, Teach. I can take it.”

“Not this,” she answered.

“Why not?” She didn’t respond, and he reached for her. “Teach—”

Before his fingers could brush her arm, the professor was on her feet. “_Don’t!_” Her nostrils flared with each sharp intake of breath, eyes intense as she glared at his outstretched hand. For the second time today, Claude felt unsure.

“I… Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…” He let the sentence fall and with it his hand, mouth working with the thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t. Claude knew he was letting too much of his guard down, but maybe—_maybe_—it would encourage Byleth to let down hers. A show of good faith, as it were.

Still, her reaction had him reeling. Claude’s mind flipped through his carefully catalogued memories. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single thing that would upset her this much. Not upset; make afraid. It was unsettling. The professor had begun to express all sorts of emotion over her time at the monastery, but fear had rarely been one of them. Even worse that she was afraid of _him. _That _hurt_, deeply and in ways he couldn’t put words to, and it took more effort to hide than he was willing to expend.

He should leave. Whatever she had wrenched inside him was making him sick and Claude wanted nothing more than to run from it. He’d pushed her too far, strained an already-tenuous relationship. She needed space. He needed air.

Claude stood, his usual placating smile returned. “It’s fine. We can talk later, yeah? Get some rest, Teach.” He turned for the door.

“Claude, wait.” The tremor in her voice hit him like a blow, and Claude stopped, his back to her. “Please.”

Claude worried the inside of his lip for a moment before speaking. “Did I… What did I do?” He hated the sound of his own voice in that moment: soft, pleading, broken.

_This was what happened when you let down your walls. People knew how to hurt you. _

He tamped down on that line of thought immediately. Byleth wasn’t out to get him. Whatever was bothering her, whatever he’d done, it could be fixed. Trust meant vulnerability but it was a price he was willing to pay; she’d never let him down before, and she wouldn’t do so now.

“Whatever it is,” he said, finally daring to face her, “I swear I’ll make it right. Just talk to me, Teach. Please.”

“It’s not— you didn’t—” Byleth sighed, sitting on the bed again. Claude didn’t join her this time, didn’t reach for her again. Instead he watched, a portrait of patience, waiting for her to speak.

“It wasn’t you, Claude. At least, not really. It’s…”

“Complicated?” She nodded. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know that I should.”

For a moment, frustration flared inside him. He buried it as quickly as it had appeared, sighing instead. “Why not?”

“Because, it…" Byleth shook her head. “It would change so much. I don’t know if I—if it’s right to—” He watched her wavering, teetering on some precipice he couldn’t see. Watched as hesitance turned to resolve, and she took the plunge. “No. No, you deserve to know. It’s time.”

_It’s time?_ Then this struggle had gone on more than just a few days. But he wouldn’t push, not this time. Instead, Claude gestured to the bed beside her.

“May I?” Byleth nodded and he sat, hands resting on his knees. Then, he waited.

“I guess there’s no easy way to say this,” she said, slowly, as if she was considering each word as she spoke them into being. “Do you… do you remember the battle in the Sealed Forest?”

“When we defeated Solon.” Of course he remembered. He—they, _all of them_; Teach didn’t belong to him—had nearly lost her that day. “And you… changed.”

“Yes.” She smiled, just slightly. “And do you remember what I told you after I returned? About the goddess in my head?”

Claude nodded. He still didn’t know if he believed it, but her physical changes and her newfound power (not to mention the Archbishop’s seal of approval) made it difficult to discredit. Something supernatural had happened, for sure; that much he couldn’t deny.

But where was she going with this?

“When Sothis granted me her power—even before that, when she was still inside my mind—she gave me another… ability.”

_O-kay_.

“What kind of ability?”

Byleth took a deep breath, then looked him dead in the eye and said, “I can turn back time.”

Claude blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know how it sounds, but I swear it’s the truth. I can’t do it for very long, mind, minutes at best. Still, sometimes…”

Claude was still processing. “You can go back in time. To another moment. One that has happened before.”

“That… is what I said, yes. At least, it’s less going back so much as throwing time in reverse, but…”

“That’s—that’s—” Impossible. _Insane_. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I can _turn back time?”_

“Sorry,” he laughed, “stupid question. I’m still wrapping my head around this.” Suddenly he swiveled, kicking his boots off before turning his whole body to face her and crossing his legs. “Here’s a less stupid one: can you prove it?”

Byleth’s expression darkened, her eyes guarded. “You don’t believe me.”

Claude smiled, hands raised. “No, no, I do! C’mon, Teach; you’ve cut your way out a magic prison of darkness and basically become the goddess herself. I’ve seen you do all sorts of extraordinary things, things I couldn’t even dream of accomplishing if I had a hundred lifetimes. Belief is not an issue.”

“Then…?”

“I just want to see it in action,” he almost-pleaded, turning the charm on full-force. But Byleth stopped him, her own hand raised.

“It’s not a toy,” she warned; then her gaze softened. “Anyway, I can’t take you with me, so you wouldn’t remember even if I did it. I could have _already_ done it, for all you would notice.”

That was a little disappointing, but Claude was far from out of ideas. “How about this? I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before, and you go back and tell me what I was going to say before I have the chance.” Good—she was considering it, at least. “Please? For your _deer_ old Claude?”

That got a snort and an eyeroll from her, which was as good as winning. “Fine, but only if I don’t have to listen to that pun ever again.”

“On my honor.” Grinning, Claude considered his options. What could he give her that would be convincing without giving away too much?

Aah. Well, he never said it had to be _truthful_.

Byleth was staring at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raised. “Made up your mind?”

“I have,” he answered with a waggle of his own eyebrows. He took another breath to tell her, but she made a face and raised her hand to stop him.

“There is no way you lost your virginity to _Seteth_, especially in Rhea’s office, and if you ever make me say those words again, I will break you in half, Alliance be damned. I can never unhear that.”

“Holy _shit_.”

It was real. Teach could time-travel. Claude’s heart thumped against his ribcage like a desperate prisoner, breath stuck in his lungs. He hadn’t discovered something this important, this fascinating, since trying to unravel the mysteries of the Church.

Eyes shining, he leaned forward. “Do it again.”

“_Claude_.”

The warning in her voice brought him back down again, grounded him in the physical reality of Byleth’s room. He must really be out of sorts if he was hemorrhaging this much of his inner self, even if it was only in front of Byleth. He needed to focus.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his head. “Guess I got a little carried away.”

“A little,” she agreed. “Sothis’ gift is not a magic trick. It’s a tool, one that is tricky to pull off and… heavy to bear. I don’t like to use it unless I have to.”

“Have you?” he asked. She must have, right? Otherwise, why would she bring it up? “Used it before now, I mean.”

Byleth hesitated; looked away. “Yes.”

“When?”

He shouldn’t have asked—Claude knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. The professor flinched as if she’d been struck, pulling away from him; he wanted to reach for her, to draw her back, but he was afraid she would run again. Goddess, he shouldn’t have asked.

And then he had a thought; it twisted inside him, wrapping around his organs and threatening to crush his lungs and heart and maybe his very soul. The pieces were falling into place faster than he could follow: what she could do, why he was here, why she had been avoiding him. Dread seeped into his limbs like swamp water, a cold slimy feeling that made him squirm.

Except that he didn’t. Claude willed himself not to move, clenching his fists to fight the tremors he was sure she could see.

“The other day,” he said, voice just above a whisper, and if Claude had possessed any doubt it was gone the moment those words passed his lips. Byleth took a great shuddering breath, then met his eyes with the saddest of smiles.

“I knew you would put it together. So smart…”

That should have made him feel better, but Claude just wanted to vomit. That panicked urge to flee was on him again. Running had always served him well. It was a survival skill, one that he had honed to near perfection. He could just leave; he could escape this conversation and never speak of it again, never think about it again. Except he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Claude had _died_.

He had seen enough of death during this war, even caused it, and though he wasn’t fond of sacrifice some loss of life was unavoidable. He had killed, he had ordered others to kill; he knew the smell of blood, the feel of a blade as it cut through flesh. He tried not to think about it, just like anyone else. Dwelling made it harder to do the things that needed to be done. But he had died, and all of that—all the death, all the blood and pain and sweat and toil, all his loftiest hopes and bright, shining ideals, all his hard work—over in an instant. All for _nothing._ He had died—just like that. One moment, walking his path; the next, no more Claude. Just. Gone.

He had died. Had it been the archer in the woods? Had he really been taken down so easily, a sniper’s bolt from the shadows while his back was turned? Careless. Stupid. No wonder Byleth had been so furious. She’d seen it all—probably held him as he gasped his last---

_Stop it, Claude._

This wasn’t productive. He was alive—_alive_, damn it! Maybe he had died, but that was past tense. He _had been_ dead. But he couldn’t remember it, because it hadn’t _really_ happened—not in this timeline. It had only happened to a version of him, and Byleth had reversed time, bought him a second chance.

And she’d borne the burden of that memory alone.

Claude swallowed the lump in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Byleth’s head snapped up, hurt pooling liquid in her eyes. “How?” she demanded. “You died! You died, and until now you didn’t even know it!”

“You’re telling me now,” he countered. “About all of it. How you fixed it. How you _can _fix it—”

“And what good would that have done?”

Claude shook his head, huffed in disbelief. “Are you kidding? It’s incredible. Just imagine how we could use it—”

“_No_.” Byleth, practically aglow with anger, slammed her first into the mattress. “Damn it, this is exactly what I was afraid of. That if you knew, you’d try to _do_ something with it. Work it into your plans, _rely_ on it—”

So that was it: she didn’t trust him. The realization burned, even if he knew she was right. But she also knew that Claude hated taking unnecessary risks, hated relying on the long-shots and the tall odds. Daring gambits were for desperate men, and they weren’t so far gone yet. Maybe one day, maybe even soon, but for now…

“Is that so bad?” he challenged. “It could be useful.”

“It doesn’t always work!” Byleth was shaking now, anger giving way to a much deeper hurt. “It doesn’t always—it’s not a sure thing—” She sank to the ground, chest heaving with suppressed sobs, hair hiding her eyes. “…You can’t fix everything.”

Claude slipped off the mattress, kneeling beside her. “What do you mean?” he asked gently. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “What couldn’t you fix?”

Byleth lifted her head, slowly, so slowly, to meet his eyes. And Claude had really done it now, because that was the same haunted, devastated look she’d had the day her father had died.

“Oh hell. You tried to save Jeralt.” Tried, and failed. And his heart broke all over again, as if the wound was brand new. And for her, he realized, it was. Five years had passed since Jeralt’s death, but the professor had missed those years. For her, it had only been a few months. Goddess, he was an idiot.

Byleth was crying in earnest now, face buried in her hands, and Claude couldn’t stand to watch. He wasn’t good at comforting people—hadn’t been then and sure wasn’t now—but he had to do _something_. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. Byleth tensed at his touch, too shocked to do more than hiccup; when she looked up at him, it was with relief.

“Y-you’re real,” she whispered, awed, and buried her fingers in his shirt. “I was so afraid…”

“That I really was dead?” Byleth leaned her head against his shoulder and sniffled.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

“Lucky guess.” He sighed, resting his chin on her head. “Aw, Teach… I’m no ghost, I promise.” He smiled at her, though she couldn’t see it, and one gloved hand found its way to her hair. It was a protective gesture, like comforting a child, but Claude found it felt right. Like she belonged in his arms, a thought he pushed aside for a more logical one: she had protected him all this time, his life and his dreams. It was time he returned the favor.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, whispering against her soft green waves. “You saved me. I’m _okay_.” And at those words, Byleth unraveled.

Tears streamed down her face as the first of many sobs racked her small frame. She clung to him as if she feared he would disappear, and Claude wondered if he would have finger-shaped bruises when all this was done. But he let her cry without comment, let her caress his face and clutch at his shirt and card her fingers through his hair; let her ground herself in his presence. She leaned her forehead against his chest, feeling his heartbeat and murmuring _I lost you, I lost you_ over and over between her sobs.

“You _found_ me,” he reminded her, when she was calm enough to hear it, and Byleth lifted her head to smile through her tears.

“I guess I did,” she said. She lifted her hand to brush his cheek, and Claude felt his face heat. “I just… I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, too.”

“You won’t.” That had sounded a lot less serious in his head—less like the promise he’d just made with his heart. So he grinned at her, the same smile he had always used when he was trying to get out of something for class. “C’mon, would I lie to you, Teach?”

“Maybe.” But she was smiling back now, even as she let her had fall. “But not about this, I think.”

“You’re probably right. You’re a pretty good judge of character.” After all, she had picked Claude, back when all of this was set in motion and the other two were vying so desperately for her attention. How many times had he thanked the stars for that?

Byleth hummed thoughtfully. “I did choose you,” she said finally. The observation startled Claude so much he laughed. “What?”

“Now who’s reading whose mind?” he chuckled, and Byleth grinned.

“Oh?” she asked, leaning in closer. “Is that what you were thinking?”

Claude cleared his throat, pulling away as his face colored. Goddess above, had she always been this daring? “I’ve said too much,” he laughed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Then his smile faded. “Actually, that’s not true. I don’t think I’ve said enough.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled and took her hand; it gave him some small satisfaction when she flushed in response. “Teach, you saved my life and I haven’t even thanked you yet.”

“Oh.” Wait, was she disappointed? Her smile had wavered there, just for a moment. “Oh, well. You’re welcome.”

“You can’t say ‘you’re welcome’ until after I say ‘thank you,’” he reminded her, tone lofty and affected. “So… Thank you. I don’t know how to express my gratitude with mere words, but I’m grateful. More than grateful, I really owe you one, Teach.”

“You’re welcome,” she repeated, smile returning full-force. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“You don’t even have one of those,” he teased. It made her laugh, and hearing her laugh after days (had it only been days?) of her melancholy was like watching dawn break on a brand new day—one full of hopeful anticipation and bright possibility.

Byleth squeezed his hand. “Then I’ll have to protect yours.”

Said heartbeat nearly stopped.

“When did you become such a sweet-talker?” Claude laughed. His pulse was doing a strange dance in his chest. She was so cute, and she didn’t even know it. “You’ve been hanging around Lorenz too much, Teach.”

“I blame Sylvain, actually.”

“Fair enough.” Not that they had seen Sylvain or any of the other Blue Lions since the war… “Say, Teach, are you hungry? I think we’ve both missed dinner at this point, but I’m sure I could round something up for us.”

“I’m a bit tired, actually,” was an unusual if not unexpected response, so Claude nodded and started to get up, using the bed to push himself to his feet.

“Then you should rest,” he said. “I’ll head out. Should probably get some shut-eye myself.”

“Claude?” He stopped with his boot in his hand, looking at her over his shoulder. Byleth was staring pointedly at her lap, hands fidgeting. “Would you… Would you stay? Just for a little while?”

Oh. Surely Claude was red to his ears by now; he could feel it creeping up his neck as his pulse thundered in his ears.

“You want me to stay?”

She nodded. “Just for a bit,” she repeated. She still wouldn’t look at him. “I feel at ease when you’re here. And I’ve… well, I’ve missed talking.”

“…You don’t talk,” he said dumbly, and that made her laugh.

“You never stop talking,” she countered, finally meeting his eye, “and I like listening.”

“Well,” he said, and Claude didn’t even have to pretend to be flattered, “how could I say no when you put it that way? You’re really laying it on thick, you know that? You sure you’re not flirting with me?”

“And what would you do if I was?”

“Probably flirt back,” he chuckled. “You know me. I roll with the punches.” Claude offered her a hand up, one she took with a murmured ‘thank you’, and he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll make us some tea. You get comfy and think about what you want to hear.”

Byleth was already crawling across the sheets, boots abandoned in a heap on the floor. “I like your Almyran stories,” she said. Byleth settled again the wall, watching him as he crossed the room to the cabinet drawer where she kept her tea things.

“Aw, really?” Claude complained, not actually minding one bit. “Haven’t you heard them all by now? They’re really not that interesting.”

“They are when you tell them,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind hearing them again.”

Tea leaves acquired, Claude sighed heavily and gave her a longsuffering stare. “If that is what milady requires.”

Byleth smirked at him. “Now who sounds like Lorenz?”

And that was how, nearly an hour later, Claude found himself seated with his back to the wall on top of Byleth’s bed, a cup of cold tea in his hand and the professor’s head heavy with sleep upon his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up to AO3 fifteen minutes late with Starbucks*
> 
> Hey all! So thank you firstly for your patience. I've been fighting a bit of burnout/apathy and then had a major family emergency, so I beg your forgiveness for being so late with this. But finally-- FINALLY-- it is done! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it. Thank you for all your comments and kindness and please stick around for more FE3H stuff in the future. 
> 
> Also, a note on Claude's inconsistent cursing: I know he's Almyran and all and grew up away from the church, but I feel like he'd have picked up a few of the Fodlan mannerisms since coming to the country. Hence the waffling back and forth between "goddess" and "gods" and whatever else I threw in there this chapter. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Twitter if you want (@imagymnasia) or buy me a ko-fi if you're so inclined. It's never expected but always appreciated.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!! <3 Much loves!
> 
> PS: Extra kudos if you spot the Eli Monpress reference. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Title: Not My Claude, You Bitch! (Can you tell I'm bad at this? Because I am. Bad. At this. Titles suck and I fluctuate wildly between Taking Nothing Seriously and Taking Everything Far More Seriously Than I Should.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading! I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Your kindness and comments fuel me, so I hope this little stoy brought you joy. Also, there WILL be a second chapter as soon as I get off my lazy patootie and write it. (I actually wanted to post this all as one go but I got impatient so here is my humble offering, fandom, incomplete as it is. May it be pleasing to your sight.)
> 
> <3


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